


Stranger with Time

by Salamon2



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Book: A Horse and His Boy, Canon Compliant, Courtship, Drama & Romance, Eventual Romance, F/M, Gen, Post-Canon, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2018-11-17 06:23:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11269788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salamon2/pseuds/Salamon2
Summary: Aravis returns to Anvard after searching for the Narnian Kings and Queens with a small party of Archenlanders a few years after their disappearance. She returns home to find Cor less the Shasta she knew, troubling her and reminding her of the fears the Red Witch had plagued her with before her defeat.





	1. The Return to Anvard

**Author's Note:**

> As I was revisiting an old favorite story of mine, I discovered a few Aravis/Shasta|Cor stories (which are few in number, unfortunately) which inspired me to try my hand at the pairing, and so here we are.

**Stranger with Time**  
  
_Chapter One: The Return to Anvard_  


Time passes though we wish it wouldn’t, and what was today is swiftly swept into yesterday. This was a moral that Aravis recalled from her earliest childhood when her elder brother had told her a story of a man who had spent his whole life thinking of the perfect story to tell—only to die before he could tell it properly to anyone. Its message was strong and clear—one never has enough time in this world.

 

It had been nearly a year since Aravis had left Archenland to search Narnia and the Western Wilds for the Pevensies. After having defeated the Red Witch of the Wilds, who claimed to have been a pupil and former ally of the White Witch, Jadis, Aravis was eager to see the towers of Anvard once again. She had seen sixteen summers when she’d left and now on the eve of her seventeenth birthday could see the towers rising in the distance. Eager for the company of the twins, a full meal, a bath, and her own bed, Aravis spurred her grey mare to gallop ahead of Darrin and Shar—who had been with her the entirety of the trip upon King Lune’s express commands. They hadn’t been the entirety of the party who had left Archenland to search for the Pevensies, but Ina had broken off to journey on to Sandsend herself a few days before. No pleas to the contrary could convince Ina to budge on staying even one night at Anvard. A fact made clear when she’d overheard Darrin and Shar speak the night of Ina’s departure when they thought Aravis asleep.

“It’s rather rude to not show your respect to the King at the very least,” grumbled Shar as he had poked the fire with a stick, stirring up embers as he spoke.

Darrin had shook his head and sighed, “I don’t blame her for wishing to avoid the court. Her mother is out of favor.”

Shar had protested, “The Marchioness was caught off guard by Rabadash per the lion’s design. Had she done her job as Keeper of the Flame, Prince Cor and Aravis would have never been needed to warn Archenland.”

“The other lords never see things that way. All they see is Marchioness Ishanta’s dusky complexion and Calormene name.”

“She is only a quarter Calormene!”

“That’s enough for most of the lords. Not all are as understanding as King Lune is, especially since the invasion nearly cost Archenland its freedom. How his grace can keep all the court from insulting our little Tarkheena, only Aslan knows.”

“Lune is still a hero of the war, and she the Lady of Anvard by his decree. As long as he treats her as his daughter, no one will say anything to our Aravis. I just worry of what they’ll say when he dies and Prince Cor takes the throne and marries, for the Lady of Anvard is a title of the Queen’s.”

Shasta sit the throne? The idea was at once laughable and yet right in another way. So much so it delayed her from considering what else they had mentioned—of what the court would say of her when he did. It hadn’t been much of a concern in her thoughts before now, but if Shar and Darrin were to be believed, what protection she had received from King Lune’s royal beneficence would dissipate like the fog in the rising sun. What was to come of her? She could not return to Calavar, her life in Calormen was of course at an end. Her father, having heard she had been taken in as the “Barbarian King’s” ward, had written to her and in the name of Tash denounced her affiliation with the family, declaring that for her disobedience that should she require any protection from him or any of her other cousins, that she would be denied and left to starve. Her cousin Alimash had countered her father’s letter, saying that should she ever require his services as a kinsman, he would do what he could to protect and guard her honor, and wished her joy. Bree’s good opinion of him had certainly been warranted. But of course, Alimash was not a Tarkaan in his own right, and would be required by law to follow what the head of his family, her father, decreed was the honorable thing to do, or risk banishment of himself from all civilized society. So while she had warmed herself in the thought that her cousin cared for her, she knew his pledge, should she ever force him to live up to it, would be a death sentence to his career in the Army of the Tisroc. West was Telmar—a fledgling kingdom in its own right as a protectorate of Calormen. And to the East lay naught but islands and pirates.

Narnia of course was also out of the question—not that the country ill-suited her, but that after what she had seen searching for the Pevensies, the land would not be brought to heel of good governance for some time. Some of the lower orders of Centaurs, Satyrs, Dryads, and Dwarves had begun to band together among their own kind and squabble over territory. Rumors of the potential for civil war were high, and that was reason enough to stay in the secluded fertile valleys and mountains of Archenland. And yet the problem loomed over her of where her place in the world should be.

These thoughts were more readily disturbed when she at last dismounted her horse in the outer ward of Anvard and looked around eagerly for any sign of welcome home. Shar was greated by his wife, and Darrin was busy speaking with the stable boy about seeing to the horses. And then the crowd of castle servants—already dissipating to return to their chores parted so that King Lune and one of the twins was there ready to greet her. Quite forgetting herself, Aravis, eager for some confirmation of belonging to Anvard, ran to the plump old king and hugged him like a girl half her age might have done.

“My, what a greeting, child. As you can see we’re all here in one piece,” clucked the King with a jolly smile as Aravis turned and realized that it was Corin who had come to greet her before she hugged. The hug caught Corin off guard, but the stocky boy accepted it with a slight pat on the back.

“Whassa maddur, Aravis?” asked Corin, his mouth muffled by her hair.

“Where’s Cor?” she asked, recalling what the Red Witch’s vision had shown her and suddenly growing worried of its portent.

King Lune looked about, as though the whereabouts of his eldest and heir hadn’t been on his mind until the current moment. He added as he looked, “He is supposed to be here. He was fighting Dar in the practice yards last I saw.”

“He went up to change not long ago,” said Corin as he pulled a hair from her of his face.

The sound of footfalls eagerly plodding across the wooden hoarding from the Great Keep along the inner wall and down the steps by the yett.

“Whoooaa!” called a deeper voice than Aravis had expected, and a lean, but still somewhat lanky, Cor came tumbling down the steps the next second only to fall into the dirt at Aravis’ feet. Corin burst into laughter beside her, and even King Lune couldn’t help but chuckle jollily at the sight.

“Hullo, Aravis. Sorry, I’m late,” chirped Cor the moment his eyes met hers.

If she hadn’t been reminded then of the vision of Cor the Red Witch had flitted before her eyes, she might have scolded him. Clearly he expected as much as he shifted his weight upon onto his elbows, and was caught off guard as much as Corin had been as she took to a knee and hugged him. He was still here, and still his kind, clumsy, stubborn Shasta self.

“Clearly my ward has a story to tell of Narnia, if she arrives home having missed us all so very much,” prodded King Lune.

“Did you, Aravis?” asked Cor rather pointedly, bringing her out of her thoughts.

            Aravis then stood and helped Cor up himself, disoriented by Cor having at last joined Corin in finally surpassing her in height. She absent-mindedly brushed the dirt off Cor’s tunic as she answered, “Why of course I missed you. What kind of lady or tarkheena would I be to not have missed you all?”

            Had Aravis been paying closer attention to Cor’s face, she would have noticed that it screwed up slightly in response to her answer, as though it hadn’t been completely what he’d hoped in response. It was gone though, by the moment she looked again, but his father saw it all and understood.

            “Perhaps you would care to tell us more of your trip, my dear, Cor I imagine would especially care to hear of it.”

            “Not just Cor! Did you fight anything while you were in Narnia? The northern knights all say that the country’s gone to the dogs since the High King vanished. Surely you must have gotten in a scrap or two yourself!” interrupted Corin at the worst of all times.

            “Yes, I have much to say… but right now I could do with a nice bath and a rest in my own bed,” said Aravis with a clear exhaustion.

“Of course, of course. We shall not pester you a moment longer, my dear. Come Corin, let us see how well you are coming along with your boxing.”

Corin, for his part burst out into a grin and excitedly agreed to that, though before he left he surprised Aravis with a hug that lifted her off her feet and a kiss he cheekily stole from her cheek. Playfully Aravis swatted him away as he put her back down and departed with, “It’s good to have you back, Aravis.”

Cor then stepped in and offered, “I’ll walk you to your chambers.”

“I know where they are, Cor. You need not play the part of gracious host to me now!” she protested before adding uncertainly, “But you can walk with me, nevertheless.”

“I wasn’t playing the part of host to you, Aravis,” he defended as they departed for the Great Keep.

“Oh weren’t you? And here I thought you were keen to practice your social graces?” she asked, recalling how she had helped him to learn the proper manners of a princely lordling.

“I don’t need to practice anymore. Father’s invited nearly all the realm to visit while you were away. I’ve been inundated with so many guests that I’ve had to bow, simper, and compliment that I’m rather experienced at it all now.”

“Oh,” said Aravis, surprised that he seemed now so confident in his role all of a sudden. This was far unlike Shasta.

“Though truth be told, I rather didn’t like all the company and the constant parade they required. It reminded me far too much of Tashbaan,” added Cor as he reached out to open the door to the Great Keep for them.

Aravis added as she passed through the doors, “They shall be your subjects one day, your father is smart to begin introductions now. He will not rule for forever, you know, though you may wish that to be so.”

“Aye, he isn’t the Tisroc,” quipped Cor with a wink that seemed to remind Aravis of Corin in that moment.

“And how did you like your future nobles?” questioned Aravis as Cor closed the doors behind them.

They ascended the stairs as they continued, Cor asking, “They were all rather nice in their own ways. The Marchioness of the Southern Marches was here most recently. You traveled with her daughter, didn’t you?”

“Yes, Ina and I rather got on well. Her grandmother had been a Tarkheena and escaped from Calormen just as we did and married the Marquess after settling in Archenland. Ina told me all about how the Marquess met her grandmother on the trip, though not in the proper fashion of a Calormene story I should say. That is something I tried to teach her as we journeyed, but Ina couldn’t have been bothered with learning.”

Cor pointed out, “Well, Lady Ina is an Archenlander.”

“Yes, but she has Calormene blood in her as well. And while I may disagree with many things my countrymen do, there are a few things that they do better than a lot of Northerners, and telling stories rather well is one of them. When I have children, all of them shall know the proper Calormene art of storytelling.”

“At this rate you’ll soon be saying we should start dressing in silks and vests like all civilized people,” grumbled Cor.

“I would not! Besides in this climate, I’d be mad to suggest such a thing!” protested Aravis with a slight glare.

“Then why did you try and force Lady Ina to be more Calormene when she clearly didn’t wish it?” questioned Cor as they came to the floor that Aravis’ chambers were on.

“Oh you wouldn’t understand. Proper storytelling for a Calormene is… like water for fish or better still, the sun for plants. Without it we wither and starve!” exclaimed Aravis.

Cor frowned, and rounded, “And why wouldn’t I understand? I was raised in Calormen just as much as you were, and I don’t recall storytellers being half so well praised. Arsheesh was fond of proverbs, but he hadn’t the time for stories.”

“Ah, but you weren’t raised as a Tarkhaan,” explained Aravis.

“That’s what I thought you meant,” stated Cor. His frown was replaced with what looked to Aravis a blank face as he bowed rather formerly and quite correctly to her and departed with, “I should return to my studies.”

Cor left her there nearly at the door to her chambers stunned and without so much as a “see you at dinner” as she had expected from him. However before she could truly ponder his reaction her ladies and maids came for her and hurried her into her chambers where a tub for her bath had already been brought up and was in the process of being filled by manservants. Her ladies assisted her in taking off the boiled leather and tunics that had been her only clothes for months since she’d set out for the Wild Lands west of Narnia from Cair Paravel. Bruises and scars she had earned along the way were fussed and cooed over.

“A merchant sells the finest oinment to make such things disappear. I shall order some for you immediately if you wish, my lady,” declared Lady Elinor, one of the daughters of the Knights sworn to protect Anvard and its Lady. Elinor was a year Aravis’ senior and always assuming things she shouldn’t as far as Aravis was concerned.

“You shall not. I am rather fond of this scar,” protested Aravis as she wrenched her right arm away from the grasp of the noblewoman.

“Fond of a scar! You speak almost as if you were like Queen Lucy,” chittered Lady Hel, this one was older by three years and a wife of yet another knight.

“You forget we were friends,” protested Aravis as her chemise was lifted from her body.

Lady Hel added, “You’ll never find a husband who likes scars as much as you do. All men want skin as smooth as the ice on a pond in winter.”

“And if I don’t marry?” questioned Aravis as she shivered, naked as the day she had been born, to which she only received giggles from even the maids.

“Well, then you’d be missing out on quite a lot of joy, if I do say so myself. Old maids are such sad creatures, wouldn’t you say, Lady Penelope?” proclaimed Lady Hel with a knowing look about her that Aravis failed to grasp.

“Oh yes indeed,” echoed Lady Penelope with a knowing smirk, another married woman about Lady Hel’s age with a rounding belly just beginning to grow with child if Aravis was any judge.

Aravis was helped into her bath which was now ready for her and still somewhat warm.

“I ran away from Calormene to escape a marriage. I don’t intend to turn around and marry so soon after doing so,” insisted

“Your choice is yours, my Lady, and your loss to waste your youth without the knowledge of a man,” clucked Lady Penelope.

“I know enough of men to know I shan’t find many to accept me as I am, so why bother? In any case I grow tired of talking about men. Pray do change the subject.”

“Well, there was quite a number of petitioners while you were away my Lady,” commented Lady Elinor as she sprinkled in some petals from the lilies of the valley and violets into Aravis’ bathwater. She mentioned the petitioners as being Lady of Anvard required her to look after the people of the city below the castle, hear their concerns, and solve their matters when they could not. It was a trying part of her own existence, but something she rather liked as it showed King Lune put his faith in her. It also was far more than what a Tarkheena might expect in Calormene. Typically if a Tarkhaan’s only heir was his daughter, her eventual husband would take over the ruling of her lands for her. Here in the free North, women could rule in their own name, like Queens Susan and Lucy had.

“I assume their complaints were dealt with or recorded for me?” assumed Aravis as she swirled about the flower petals.

“Oh, aye. I have the rolls with the matters that could not be settled in your solar,” explained Lady Hel.

“Good, how many were there?” asked Aravis.

“Nigh five rolls worth, my lady.”

Considering a roll was over a foot long each, and her scribe had tiny precise handwriting, that was saying something.

“What did nearly every person in Anvard seek an audience with me while I was away?” queried Aravis.

            Lady Hel explained, “There were plenty of merchants and knights seeking approval for marriages, others requesting letters patent on matters your man thought it best for you to look over, and so on and so forth.”

            “Oh… quillwork,” grumbled Aravis, that she could believe. The most tedious part of being a Lady.

            Lady Penelope clucked, “Indeed, but well needed in the city down below.”

            “I’ll begin addressing that tomorrow… or perhaps the next day,” sighed Aravis, hoping that she wouldn’t be stuck behind mounds and mounds of letters patent needing her signature and seal for moons and moons to come. She wanted to be out and in the practice yard as well to keep what skills she’d learned from Ina fresh in her mind, and she also wished to actually go out into the city as well. It was almost time for the yearly celebration of the defeat of the White Witch after all, and surely some festival proposal would pop up and she’d find some excuse to plan it and organize it—if only to keep from having to tire her hands out by signing so many letters patent.

            “Do you require anything else, my lady?” asked Lady Elinor.

            “No, I can manage on my own from here until this evening. I shall need you all to help me dress for dinner, but until then you’re all dismissed,” announced Aravis and her gaggle of ladies departed her chamber after each said their goodbyes to her.

            After they had all departed, Aravis sighed with great relief and dipped her head underneath the water for a short while before popping back up to breathe. She then settled herself with her back leaning against the back of the tub and closed her eyes to enjoy the warm soak of a good bath. As she laid back in the warm water her thoughts began to swirl as she was lulled to sleep.

            Once again she was a young girl riding to escape her father and Ashota. Alongside her was Hwin, Bree, and Shasta, and everything seemed normal—until the sight of a red cloth appeared before them. And then Aravis found herself staring at the Red Witch of the Wild West. She had long hair dyed red by some means, and long flowing robes of red cloth that flapped in the desert wind.

            “You think you have defeated me girl? What did I tell you? You shall carry me for the rest of your days!” pronounced the Red Witch with an evil smile.

            “You have no power over me!” insisted Aravis, remembering what had beaten back the visions before.

            “Maybe not, but what of your friends?” questioned the Witch and suddenly a flash of red light occurred, blinding her temporarily as it had before when they had faced down the witch. Only this time, Aravis blinked away the blindness to discover in Shasta’s place stood a man, tall, lean, bearded, blonde, and handsome, dressed as only a prince should in cloth of gold and scarlet silk.

            “Shasta!” called out Aravis.

            “He’s gone, Aravis. Gone and forgotten,” said the man.

            A panic rose in Aravis’ heart and she asked, “No, where is he? What have you done with him?!”

            “He’s gone,” echoed the man a little more forcefully.

            “What have you done with him?! Bring him back!” she demanded.

            “What has gone will not come again in this life,” stated the man, quoting an old Calormene proverb as he took her by the wrist.

            “Stay off of me… you’re… you’re a stranger to me.”

            “Am I?” questioned the man and suddenly the Red Witch was there again, standing next to the man, smirking all knowingly, and it was with a start that Aravis awoke from her doze in the tub.


	2. Fever Dreams

_Chapter Two: Fever Dreams_

 

Aravis emerged from her chambers and gaggle of maids dressed for dinner in a fine silk green gown spun with cloth of silver on top. After moons and moons of wearing nothing but her leathers, Aravis was rather enjoying looking somewhat lady-like for once. Not that she loved to do so often, but the change of pace was what was welcomed more than anything. Though she didn’t like how low the dress was cut—Lady Elinor had insisted it was the very latest fashion—something Aravis would have to change, no doubt. It did provide room for Aravis to wear a silver necklace of a star that had been accepted for her in her absence in Narnia by King Lune. A gift that was supposedly from the Duchess of Melite that had been given while she had been visiting Anvard with her family.

 

Lady Hel had insisted on weaving a cut of a white clematis vine into her braided hair. The entire effect giving the illusion that Aravis wore a crown of flowers with her braid as the base of the crown and the flowers its jewels. She thought that a little fancy, but seeing the finished product was enchanted by it enough to not ask Lady Hel to take it out. She could bare being made to look more feminine than she felt comfortable with normally, she was returning to Anvard from Narnia after all, there was also the change in pace it provided—and Aravis had to admit it to herself that it did suit her face rather well. One allusion to her status as a Tarkeena was kept with the silver arm bands shaped as snakes which wrapped around her otherwise bare arms. They weren’t anything special in and of themselves outside of being made of silver, as most Tarkeenas spent more on their silks than their jewelry, and as such the emeralds for the eyes of the intertwined snakes were truly quench crackled quartz that had been dipped in green dye to imitate emeralds. Most Tarkaans did not give gems to their Tarkeenas, preferring to save the real things for their own rings and fine array. Still the quench crackling was rather convincing, and well done as far as Aravis could tell.

 

As Aravis descended the stairs leading to the bottom of the Great Keep, she heard the twins arguing, and smiled. Some things hadn’t changed.

 

“Just admit it, you didn’t know, and that’s what bothered you.”

 

“I had never heard of it at all, that doesn’t mean it wasn’t true, just that it wasn’t as… pervasive as was suggested.”

 

“Oh-ho! Pervasive, and just who are you trying to impress with that word?”

 

“The entire kingdom, no thanks to you!”

 

“Pshaw! Quit putting on airs. We’re alone now, it’s not like you have to act like the future King of Archenland _all_ the time—I never did.”

 

“That’s exactly why I am.”

 

“Just what are you trying to say?”

 

It was at this point that Aravis turned the corner enough and saw the twins, dressed themselves rather fine in red tunics with cloth of gold adorning and showing the Archenland pride each boy had at wearing the Kingdom and their house’s colors—though Corin wore an inverted gold cross on a red field, and Cor the traditional red cross on a golden field. Her presence did not go unnoticed as both Cor and Corin turned and had nearly the same reaction to her, complete and utter shock. Cor’s mouth might have dropped while Corin’s eyes popped. Equally she was impressed by how… well, grown they appeared, filling out their tunics—especially at the shoulders—quite unlike they had done before Aravis’ journey. Corin was proving of course to be the most physically impressive of the two with his growing muscular frame that surely had some of her maids giggling to themselves. Cor was more of a lean build, not at all unathletic, but hardly as impressive as his brother when compared side by side.

 

“Well, I assume King Lune sent you both as my escorts?” she asked when she felt that they had looked long enough in silence that it was beginning to feel uncomfortable.

 

“Of course, of course! My lady,” said Corin who gave himself away with a mockingly over-exaggerated bow and tone to his voice. Cor rolled his eyes at his brother’s mocking display, and then did the proper version of a bow while keeping eye contact with her. It was exactly what a Prince should do. In an instant she had a choice of which opened hand to take first, and decided the best way forward was to take both at the same time.

 

They crossed the courtyard for the Great Hall without further comment, her arms entwined with both twins and for a moment, Aravis felt calm and self-assured. Nothing tremendous had changed except that they’d grown taller and were a bit more… built from training. That was only natural, the expected change that any boys would experience. That was all, she assured herself, and yet she was still troubled. As they grew closer to the Great Hall, Aravis thought she saw a flap of red cloth upon a figure on the tower walls out of the corner of her eye. When she turned the cloth and figure had vanished it seemed.

 

“Is something the matter, Aravis?” asked Cor.

 

“Nothing,” she lied with a sweet smile.

 

“You’re lying,” he contradicted her with a furrowed brow.

 

“And you’re speaking to me, so I won,” she retorted while sticking her tongue out slightly at him, rather childishly on purpose, if only to distract him from the lie. Corin sniggered, while Cor only took a deep breath and moved to open the door to the Great Hall.

 

“No, no, no. The Prince of Archenland should go first,” interjected Corin with a mocking sweep of his own as he tried to displace his twin at the door.

 

“Dinner is in Aravis’ honor, she should go first,” resisted Cor.

 

“Oh really, you two can be such idiots,” sighed Aravis as she pushed by them both into the Hall, without either as escort. She smiled to herself, imagining the looks on their faces as she left them behind.

 

The entire hall, which had be engaged in conversation and was currently being served as servants laid rich platters of food out to eat, grew silent at Aravis’ entrance. It was mostly men at this feast, with a small cabal of women present. When Aravis had first come to Anvard, there hadn’t even been that small cabal and the disarray of the castle had spoken of the absence of a lady’s influence. She missed those days to some degree, even if her arrival had necessitated that change. It wasn’t as bad as if Lasaraleen had taken up occupancy in the castle, but it was far from the rough disarray it had been in before since the death of the Queen.

 

“Ahh, Aravis my child, we welcome you home. A toast in your honor!” proclaimed the King, who stood, raised his wine goblet, and was immediately imitated by all present in the Hall.

 

“To the Lady Aravis of Anvard. May she always return home no matter where Aslan may lead her.”

 

“The Lady Aravis!” returned the rest of the hall, who followed King Lune’s example in then drinking to her health.

 

Aravis smiled and thanked them all before sitting down at the empty seat reserved for her on the dais at the right hand of King Lune, with Cor and Corin seated to the King’s left. It was then the feast began and the minstrels began to play. A noisy reed, drum, viol, and flute being the most predominate. Aravis hated to be separate from the twins in that moment, but she knew it was her place as the guest of honor at the feast and the Lady of Anvard to be charming and receptive to the guests present to honor her. To Aravis’ right sat a guest who Aravis did not instantly recognize, though his coat of arms embroidered on his doublet looked rather familiar with a dancing sylph encircled by the stretched wings of an eagle. The motto beneath reading: “We Shift with the Winds.” It was the motto which reminded Aravis who the man was, the Viscount Syl of the House of Anax. It was then Aravis recalled where she had seen the coat of arms—upon the banners flying above the turrets of the castle Apeiron, which had loomed over the bustling trading town of Salber near the border with Narnia.

 

“We missed your party on the journey South, my lady,” said the Viscount not long after detecting her pause in observation over him.

 

“After journeying as far as we had, we were eager to return home as soon as possible. No slight was intended, viscount.”

 

“I am sure, I am sure. Few who’ve travelled to the wild lands of the west have returned to tell the tale, the four rulers of Narnia being among them, if rumor holds true.”

 

“It does. The Kings and Queens of Narnia were last seen riding out in pursuit of a white stag, one which the Red Witch of the Wild West claimed was of her own magic spell.”

 

“And when you defeated this witch, they did not return… almost as if the spell lives on after the Witch’s death. That a witch would have such power is most troublesome, most troublesome indeed… but, these circumstances do provide an opportunity.”

 

Aravis looked to where the Viscount was staring and saw the twins on the other end of his gaze. He met her eyes and smiled, a cold shiver sliding down her spine.

 

“Narnia needs a King, not some upjumped High Steward playing the farce. Without a King, what is a Kingdom after all? Things have become too restless, and trade too uncertain in Narnia since Cair Paravel became empty, don’t you agree?”

 

Aravis was careful to reply, as though sensing herself to be blown by uncertain winds, adding only, “There are disagreements between the talking animals, the dwarfs, the children of Adam and Eve, and the spirits.”

 

The Viscount laughed and picked up his goblet, a flash of the red silk shirt which puffed out from under his slashed tunic distracted her attention for a moment before she blinked and the shirt was its expected pure white color.

 

“More than just mere disagreements my lady. Downright war, to hear the poor folk fleeing into Salber. Last I had heard the dwarfs and spirits had decided to ally against the Sons of Adam and the Daughters of Eve who had returned from exile under the Pevensies—every day Salber grows with more Narnian refugees from towns and villages being raided. The talking animals aren’t making things any better to hear of it—claiming that the Pevensies shall return, and the dwarfs and spirits are crowding out the farms and towns by spreading their mines and forests. It is an utter mess to the North, and Peridan is proving himself incapable of the task of mere management. He may be the last of the current line of the House of Frank, but that is hardly all that is required to be a good ruler.”

 

Aravis could not hold her tongue for forever, and so she said, “I blush, viscount, to hear you speak of a hero of the Battle of Anvard in such a manner! Why if Lord Peridan hadn’t led the Narnian vanguard—“

 

“Lord Peridan and Queen Lucy,” corrected the Viscount.

 

“That does not change that without the Narnian vanguard, Anvard might now this day be subject to the whims and rule of the Tisroc.”

 

“And what do you suppose will happen my lady, now that Narnia is no longer capable of defending Archenland?”

 

“Narnia may have some internal strife now, but it will not last for forever. Soon or late the Narnians shall band together and all shall be as it once was,” retorted Aravis.

 

The Viscount raised his eyebrow in response just as the current song had finished and the musicians began to play a merry jig. Looking over towards Corin, she knew at once what would come next, and Corin did not fail to oblige her, as he always was the first to dance a reel or a jig with her. It was their shared fun that they had enjoyed ever since the twins had been told by their father that since there now was a Lady at Anvard, and that the court would once again be filled with ladies, that his sons should learn how to dance. And since Aravis was completely oblivious to any dances from North of the Winding Arrow, she had joined them as an equal dunce on their dance lessons. Cor was a far better dancer than Corin—who preferred to just call his wild thrashings “dance” and so the more lively songs suited him. However Cor was a true Prince at slower songs which required careful practice and a close intimacy with his dancing partner. Sometimes too intimate, Aravis thought. Corin found those types of dances boring and often conspired with Aravis during them in their lessons on how to make Cor and his partner mess up, from yelling, throwing them off count, tripping, moving counterclockwise when they should be doing the opposite, to all sorts of other mischief. Cor would shout and bluster for a minute or so before joining them in laughing himself.

 

“Come Aravis, you know this is our dance!” said Corin, grabbing her hand and nearly dragging her to the emptied part of the Great Hall where others had assembled and begun dancing already.

 

“Thank Aslan you came. If I had to talk to the Viscount a minute longer—”

 

“We don’t have much time. What do you last remember in Narnia?”

 

The complete change in subject caused Aravis to forget her place in the dance. Corin had an odd, almost crazed look about his eyes—in fact his lip had been cut, and despite his clothes he looked roughed up and a little thinner in the face than she recalled from earlier in the evening. But then, mayhaps the silvery light had wiped away her notice of such blemishes as the coy flattering moon was wont to do.

 

“Who have you been fighting? I hope you gave them more than just a cut lip in return.”

 

“Just answer the question, Aravis.”

 

“Leaving it and crossing into Archenland near Salber.”

 

“Are you sure?” He asked, a wild look having captured his eyes in that moment.

 

“What are you getting at?”

 

“I mean, what do you _actually_ remember?”

 

“Is this part of some trick you and Cor have designed to get back at me for leaving you two behind?”

 

“But you didn’t, Aravis, don’t you remember?”

 

But at that moment, the dance called for a twirl from her, and in the instant she turned her back on Corin he went from the thin underfed adolescent and back to his well-exercised build, without a sign of a fight or scratch upon him.

 

“Aravis, I know I’m becoming quite roguishly handsome, but you don’t have to stare in awe, at least not if you don’t want to.”

 

He said it with his usual sly wink which both seemed exactly Corin and yet… it was off. Something perturbed her about the entire thing. Confused, and needing something to steady her, she looked to Cor, only to see him dancing with what looked to be the Viscount’s daughter, made obvious by their common resemblance to one another. Aravis felt her head spin, and the floor tilt beneath her feet. Corin seemed to appear as two, one scarred and starved, the other handsome and muscled.

 

Her name was called by the two Corins as the ground grew closer. Not a moment later did she start to question why she was so dizzy… had the wine been—no, it couldn’t have, unless… no… yes… maybe?

 

Aravis’ sight began to grow blurry as people began to crowd around her. She blinked as her vision deteriorated and her thoughts were beginning to blur as much as her vision was. Where was she again? When was it? Shasta would know, where was Shasta? And she reached out looking for the slave boy, for Bree and Hwin. And then suddenly he was there, pushing members of the crowd aside, and the only thing seemingly clear in a world blurring, colors beginning to run together like streaks of rock in a cave wall, and people fading into shadows, but Shasta was clear, though he looked thin and sick, he reached out to her, calling her name.

 

“Aravis, can you hear me?”

 

“Sha-sta?”

 

“Aravis.” He smiled and took her hand and squeezed.

 

“No!” screamed a woman’s voice and suddenly a cloud of smoke rose and blinded Aravis, causing her eyes to tear and her lungs to burn. She coughed and struggled to breathe, though she still held on to Shasta’s hand, which felt the only real thing among the swirling colors and smells surrounding her.

 

She then felt another pair of hands pry her grip on Shasta apart, nails digging into Aravis’ flesh as she did so. And with that jolt of pain, Aravis screamed, breathing in more of the smoke and coughing fitfully until it vanished and suddenly she was upon her bed, with morning light streaming through her window. Her head ached, her eyes were still somewhat watery, and her lungs still ached. How had she got here?

 

“She’s awake!” said Lady Hel, whose movement from a chair near the foot of the bed, diverted Aravis’ watery eyes to there as her lady flew from the room announcing her health to all the castle.

 

Aravis rubbed her eyes in an effort to wipe away the stinging tears from them and see her room more clearly. And then she saw him, Cor, sitting at her bedside, asleep himself despite her lady-in-waiting’s screeches. He wasn’t thin from hunger or sick looking, he was healthy and strong, and it had all been just a side effect of whatever dream she had had that made her think differently. Aravis leaned over and took his hand in hers, just to feel the sense of comfort it had given her in her dream, awaking him as she did. His eyes opened and he looked about the room as though confused until his eyes met hers and the confusion parted like clouds after a storm.

 

“You’re awake…” he said with a slight smile.

 

She did not mention how happy she was to be on speaking terms with him again, and not have him in a huff about being so. And he clearly had forgotten, so she did as well.

 

“I had the strangest dreams... what happened to me?”

 

Cor frowned as he admitted, “It was poison. Your wine had been poisoned. You collapsed on the dance floor and began to shout nonsense about a cave, and you kept calling me Shasta. I—we thought you were about to die.”

 

“How didn’t I?” she asked.

 

“It was Lady Camyla, she saw the signs of poison on you outright and called for the herbs to save your life. Aslan only knows what would have happened had she not been there.”

 

“Lady Camyla?” Aravis did not know of a Lady Camyla.

 

“She arrived at Anvard while you were away in Narnia. Truth be told you likely passed each other on your first trip into the North. She’s an Archenlander who married a minor Narnian nobleman who’s died in all the chaos since the Kings and Queens of Narnia left the Kingdom. She returned to Archenland with her son, to see him raised properly like a true Son of Adam… and my father has extended an invitation to see her settled in Anvard until Narnia proves safe enough for her son to return as a proper Northern lord.”

 

“Your father is a very generous King.”

 

“Lady Camyla is more than just an Archenlander lady to my father, Aravis. She’s my late mother’s sister.”

 

“Why was I not told of her before now?”

 

“She had made a life for herself in Narnia and father planned to introduce you at the feast, but then the poison…”

 

“Aye, the poison. Cor, I’m truly confused as to how any Northerner who truly believes in Aslan could do such treachery.”

 

“Father’s forbidden any to leave or enter the castle until the poisoner can be discovered”

 

Aravis nodded, and her thoughts immediately jumped to how while she did not expect such behavior from an Archenlander, but from a Tarkhaan or Tarkheena in Calormen? Such behaviors were common place, if not how many a younger son gained the position they lusted from their elder brothers and fathers. Perhaps the answer to this question lay not in Archenland, but further south to her stepmother’s machinations, to ensure no threat to her son would come from Aravis. Her little brother would now be close to the age she was when she had decided that taking her life and joining her mother and older brother would be a better fate than an arranged marriage and a family who loved her not. Perhaps her stepmother had heard of her surviving and thriving as Lady of Anvard? Aye, that made the most sense.

 

“And I see my charge is awake,” said a voice both familiar and strange, and Aravis looked up to see a pale woman in a dress of pale pink and white. Her hair was the color of copper with a braid intricately wound about her head so she looked as though she wore a crown herself—one which appeared to have no beginning and no end. Atop the braid crown was a small hat with a silk veil attached and pulled back for the nonce, allowing Aravis to see a woman with shining blue eyes, freckles across her face, and a sweet smile that appeared strained.

 

“Aunt,” greeted Cor as he stood and then nodded to the woman, presumably Lady Camyla, if Aravis had to take any guess.

 

“Cor, you should have come and told me at once of dear Aravis’ recovery.”

 

But before Cor or Aravis could open their mouths to defend their behavior, Lady Camyla smirked and with a laugh assured, “I only tease.”

 

And with that, Camyla approached Aravis’ bedside and took Aravis’ other hand. Aravis automatically pulled her hand back from the warm touch of Lady Camyla, for some reason feeling as though nails had dug into her hand, but when she looked, Aravis saw her hand as it had always been, unharmed and fine.

 

“Now Cor, since Aravis is awake, you must prepare yourself for your lessons, you don’t want to disappoint your father, do you?” questioned the Lady Camyla as she took a cloth from the table near the bed and wiped at Aravis’ forehead.

Cor looked as though he were about to speak up, but then decided against it.

 

“I’ll return later, after my lessons,” he promised Aravis as he lingered by her side before feeling obliged to depart.

 

A strange smile stretched across Camyla’s face then after Cor had departed. “That boy reminds me all too well of my sister at times.” She sighed and then returned her attentions to Aravis, “Now that my antidote has run its course we should focus on seeing no permanent damage was done and drinking lots of water to flush out your body.”

 

Aravis nodded and thanked the Lady for saving her life. “If there is anything I can do in return, ever—”

 

But the Lady Camyla hushed her. “You mustn’t strain yourself. You’ll need rest to recover from your horrific ordeal. I regret to say that you will be confined to your chambers for a sennight at least, or until the poisoner can be discovered. After all, if they’ve tried once to kill you my dear, then they shall try again, make no mistake.”

 

Aravis looked to the pile of scrolls awaiting her perusal and began to worry that the past year’s collection might not be enough to occupy her time to be spent in her chambers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The overall idea for this chapter took a while to form, though the first half came out easily after I wrote the last chapter. As my ideas for this chapter changed, so did the outline for the remainder of the story shift a bit (though not as much as you might think). What took extra time was real life sapping up my writing time otherwise, which prevented work on fan fiction, but I'm starting to find time once again for this, though not nearly as much as I used to have.


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